mass slaughter just another everyday occurrence. The enemy was everywhere and everyone; most people no longer knew who was fighting who or why.
It was obvious to Fatima that they must make arrangements to leave. There was no time to apply for new passports to replace the ones that had been lost along with the house. That could take weeks or months in the current chaos, even supposing they were issued at all. Anyone could be accused of being on the other side, an enemy of the state, and then there would be no documents and probably no freedom. In any case, it was not a good idea to make yourself known to the authorities, to draw attention to yourself. They would have to take the chance of getting across the border illegally.
There had to be a better life for them all than this. There had to be a life.
***
In the idle days before they left, and the silent hours of the night when there were no air strikes, Fatima began to think about contacting Ali. For the first time since the war had begun, it seemed that perhaps now was the time to mend bridges and renew family ties. Ali was out there somewhere, in Europe Fatima assumed. He was in a safe place, and maybe if she could find him, he would be able to help, send money, get them a route out, support them into Europe also. But so much had been said; so many accusations been made against Ali by her father when he was still alive – accusations of betrayal because he had refused to have an arranged marriage, did not want to take over the family business and did not follow all aspects of Islam – that it seemed unlikely the rift could ever be healed. Fatima had been instructed to join the rest of the family in disowning him, and she had done as she was told because she had been so young at the time, only twelve, although underneath she still loved her big brother like she always had.
She thought about contacting him now the chips were down and their lives might depend on it, but did not do it. He would most likely hate her for being party to the whole sorry affair of his banishment from the family home and subsequent exile, and for only getting touch when she needed something from him. To track him down and then have her requests fall on deaf ears would be worse than not hearing anything at all, because then she would know that she had lost her only brother for ever. She pushed thoughts of Ali from her mind. Imagining that out there somewhere lay a saviour, a guardian angel who could guide and help them to safety, was plain fantasy. She, Ehsan and the children would survive only on their wits, by the making of good decisions, and with a whole lot of luck.
Angels do not exist.
Abandoned anew by Vuk, Edie meandered through the resort, at a loss for what to do. She had thought about the whole Laura shenanigans almost without let-up and decided that in all likelihood, she had gone off with some bloke – perhaps one of the Russians they had met at the marina – and would amble back once his flight had departed for Moscow or St Petersburg or Vladivostok or wherever it was he was from. She had no idea where Vladivostok was but she liked the way the letters rolled off her tongue and it amused her to think what its inhabitants would be called. If people from St Petersburg were Peterburzhy, would it make them Vladivostokhy? Or Vladivostokites like Muscovites? Either one could double as the name for an unpleasant intimate infection or a particularly repellent insect.
She passed cabana 16, grumpily kicking at the sand as she walked. The cabana was quiet and still; the loungers piled on top of each other in the corner, the washing line free of swimming costumes and towels, the recycling crate by the front door empty of bottles – all indicating a property waiting for its next inhabitants.
Pausing only for a second to think about it, Edie slipped through the gate and disappeared behind the fence. Stripping off her clothes as she walked, she arrived at the edge of the pool in seconds. It was not deep enough for diving so she slid into the water and struck off from the side, reaching the opposite wall in just a few strokes. The cabana pools were small but kept at just the right temperature – cooler than the sea at this time of year, and in the middle of the afternoon, when the beach was at its busiest, Edie preferred to stay away. It was all right if you had nothing to do but lounge around and read trashy novels, but when it was only ever a brief respite from her life of drudgery, it made her too jealous of the holidaymakers.
Pushing her body down to the very bottom of the pool she practised her breath-holding, relaxing completely, slowing her heart-rate, counting to sixty as many times as she could. Three minutes twenty. No improvement, in fact a relapse; she needed to keep working at it. She surfaced and arched her body backwards, streaming effortlessly onto her back where she lay still, her arms and legs spread into a star. She floated with her eyes shut, bright red pricks of light pulsing behind the lids, the gentle swoosh of the water filling her ears.
‘Mummy, mummy, this one, this one.’
‘Let’s go in, I want to go swimming.’
Voices filtered through to her, clearly audible but barely registering.
‘There’s someone in our pool!’ A child’s helium pitched squeal, suddenly much too close, seared into Edie’s stupor.
Shit! The new occupants had arrived and were about to discover her, Goldilocks-like in their swimming pool, and not only that, but stark naked. Her body convulsed from back to front and into swimming position, and she opened her eyes to be greeted by two little faces bent low to the water. They were examining her as if she were an exotic bug of a type they had never seen before and were curious about.
‘I’m so sorry, I just finished cleaning and I was so hot,’ she lied, thinking off the top of her head as she climbed out of the water. As she did so, she noticed that the children were accompanied by two adults, one a woman, shortish and plump with a blonde bob that swung around her ears like a shaggy, past-its-best halo and the other a ginger-haired man, open-jawed in amazement.
Attempting to cover her breasts with one arm and her genitals with other, Edie executed a comedic, half-hopping, half-shuffling movement towards where her discarded clothes lay, distributed in random heaps on the poolside tiles.
‘Who are you? Why are you here?’ The woman’s voice was well-educated, her words elaborately enunciated. ‘Is this definitely our accommodation, Patrick? If so, I think we should complain,’ she continued, turning to the man, presumably her husband, beside her.
It was a few moments before he regained his composure enough to reply. ‘Oh no, Debs, that’s not necessary.’
Edie had gathered up her clothes and was pulling on her shorts whilst performing a weird, fumbling run towards the gate. ‘So sorry,’ she called out behind her. ‘Bye. Enjoy your stay.’
‘We have disturbed Psyche at her bathing,’ she heard the man say before she was through the gate. ‘I can think of worse things …’ and then Edie was out of earshot and never heard the end of the sentence or found out what the worse things were.
At least he didn’t seem likely to complain to Vlad. The last thing she needed was to be chucked off the resort right now, when Laura might reappear at any moment.
On her way to the bar a bit later, she encountered Zayn hovering amidst the olive trees, almost as if he were waiting for her.
‘Has your sister turned up yet?’ he asked, his heavy eyes doleful as ever.
‘Nope,’ replied Edie, curtly. She couldn’t hang around chatting as she was already
